


When A Man Loves (And Unloves)

by amelioratedays



Category: GOT7, JJ Project, When A Man Loves
Genre: Drama Verse, Im Jaebum|JB - Freeform, M/M, Park Jinyoung|Jr. - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelioratedays/pseuds/amelioratedays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Semi-AU based off of the drama, When A Man Loves--where Ddol Yi finds his red string of fate with Mijoon straining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

It’s a gloomy day, filled with cumulonimbus clouds overcast the city. The rain was hanging on the threshold, forewarnings of a downpour. There’s barely anyone in the restaurant, choosing to stay indoors on such a melancholic day. But it’s not like they had many customers on regular days either and Ddol Yi simply continues his habit of cleaning tables that don’t need to be cleaned, sweeping floors that don’t need to be swept. He wipes at the table tops until the non-existent dust disappears and he sits down to reorder the eating utensils—which he already cleaned and organized just an hour earlier. Mrs. Yoon wasn’t in the store today, suffering from arthritis and resting at home thanks to Ddol Yi’s persuasion. The old woman had insisted on preparing all the side dishes before returning home though much to his avail. A roll of thunder sounds and Ddol Yi hums to himself, familiar tunes about love that hurts too much—love, that he pretends not to see. _“Love, is my love that bad?”_ He sings absentmindedly.

 

It starts raining at 11:32AM, an endless cascade of raindrops hitting the tin surface of the restaurant’s rooftop. It creates a tempo of its own, falling in and out of dissonance and Ddol Yi packs away the cleaned utensils, metal chopsticks clanging against one another. Standing up, he walks towards the broom in the back corner of the store. The pink cloth he had thrown his apology letter with was still tied around the handle. _“If you forgive me, please place a broom in front of the store.”_ He smiles fondly, the ends of his eyes crinkling softly, as he remembers the immense amount of relief that overcame him at the sight of the broom. He hadn’t meant to stage an “eat-and-run,” at least not _here_ , the most he’d probably do would be pocketing a snack bar or two at his neighbourhood corner store. Where he knows that the owner always manages to go out for a smoke and turn a blind eye to his criminal activities. Where he’s confident that his actions won’t bring him on a trip to the nearby police station. But being a growing, hungry boy at seventeen alters his confidence. He would’ve more money left over, enough to buy a box of instant noodles to last him until the next month, but someone in the class had to suggest a surprise party for their retiring teacher. Pride does strange things to seventeen year olds and Ddol Yi finds himself handing over the last 20,000 won in his battered wallet.

 

He had come back, guilt clawing him on the inside as he remembers the old woman from the soup restaurant. Grey hair and frail bones that remind him too much of his late mother on her deathbed. With a store in such a desolate area, there’s not much business to make. He wonders if she’s like him, scrapping coins to meet ends while living in a rooftop apartment that has broken windows and no heater. “ _You’re a horrible soul,”_ Ddol Yi thinks to himself as he fell asleep that night, resolving to amend his sins when the sun rose. She forgave him, smiling eyes and soft caresses that remind him of his mother’s, given him a job and daily meals. He smiles as he falls into the elderly woman’s arms. The rainstorm echoes within the empty storefront and Ddol Yi starts preparing the bean sprouts for tomorrow, nimble fingers picking out the rotten stalks. The bad ones have to go. He’s still singing the same song, of love that makes him cry; cries that make him laugh.

 

There’s no one in the store and Ddol Yi packs the soup into the takeout containers with a generous amount of rice and side dishes. He makes sure that everything is in place before locking the store and trekking off underneath his red umbrella. The rain sloshes under his steps, water soaking through his worn out sneakers to his socks. Ddol Yi ends up walking on the tips of his toes, he feels more like a tight rope walker than a ballerino. Mijoon’s company was twenty minutes away by foot and Ddol Yi shakes off the raindrops lingering on him before walking towards the practice room. Peeking through the glass door, it doesn’t take much effort for Ddol Yi to spot the back of Mijoon’s head amidst the other trainees. He looks horribly out of place, structured choreography confining his limbs. And Ddol Yi can’t help but think about how much of a free soul Mijoon really was, and how much he differs from back then. Where his smile doesn’t fade once during their spontaneous dance battles in the subway station. It’s not like now, where Mijoon dances through gritted teeth and creased foreheads.

 

 

 

_“Just watch. I’ll become a singer one day and repay all of the debt.” Mijoon stated, as he shows Ddol Yi the audition poster during lunch break. He’s still breathless, having ran all the way from the second floor after pulling the flyer off the bulletin board. Ddol Yi’s sitting in the back of the cafeteria, alone as always. No one really wanted to sit with Ddol Yi, and when Mijoon had picked him up two years ago, no one wanted to sit with Mijoon either. Putting down his book, Ddol Yi looked up at the upperclassman. “I never knew you wanted to be a singer.”_

_“Well, I just found out now too.” Mijoon beams, sliding into the seat besire Ddol Yi. He huffs, closing his book after carefully marking his page before speaking. “I thought you wanted to be writer like your dad.”_

_“You can’t make a living from that. It’s why we’re in debt in the first place.” Mijoon replies, pulling a sandwich from his backpack and tearing it in two. He hands a half to Ddol Yi and continued talking, “I mean, I already dance as a hobby. I might as well make something out of it. It’s not like I’m any good at studying.”_

_“The only reason you’re not good at studying is that you don’t want to spend money paying tuition.”_

_“Like you’re one to talk.”_

_“At least I’m not the one planning to dropout.” Ddol Yi retorts, stopping when the smile disappears from Mijoon’s face. It appears after a split second when Mijoon remembers to control his expressions. Placing his hand on the younger male’s head, Mijoon ruffles his hair softly. “Don’t end up like me.” He says before biting into his sandwich. They don’t talk much during that day, spending time in uncomfortable silence._

“Don’t end up like _me._ ” Ddol Yi thinks, settling outside the practice room while waiting for Mijoon’s dance practice to end. The ends of his pant legs are still wet, constricting him alongside wet socks. It’s an understatement to say that Ddol Yi doesn’t feel in his element. Thinking about the past doesn’t really help to comfort him either, and he remembers all too clearly when he bumped into Mijoon one fine day in the hallway. “I handed it in,” the other says with a grim smile as if he didn’t throw his entire educational career over a cliff. He’s placing all he owns into this bet, yearning for a prize that he doesn’t really admire. Ddol Yi doesn’t return the smile and Mijoon knows he’s angry. “Hey, come on.” he teases, “I’m doing this for family.”

 

Hugging the take out containers, Ddol Yi glances at the clock. Practice ends in eleven minutes. The second hand ticks off in an almost lonely way. _“I’m doing this for my family,”_ he remembers. Ddol Yi doesn’t understand, of course, there’s nothing he can do for a family that doesn’t exist. He lives for himself in this barren world. The creak of the door hinges carries him out of his thoughts and Ddol Yi looks up to find Mijoon’s smiling face (as if he wasn’t being scolded for everything he didn’t deserve for the umpteenth time just seconds earlier). Ddol Yi doesn’t need to ask if he’s staying for more practice and simply holds up the bag of food he packed. “I brought you food, hyung.”

 

They sit on the bench, Mijoon tasting the soup while Ddol Yi sets out the other dishes. The other trainees pass by, bidding farewell with calls of; “Take care, hyung.” Calling hyung, as if in mockery that Mijoon is riddled with age and rid of talent. Ddol Yi wants to retaliate and say that the tortoise will overcome the hare but he doesn’t want to live thinking Mijoon was the tortoise. “It’s okay,” Mijoon says in between gulps. “I’m okay.” Ddol Yi scruffs his shoes on the wooden floor, socks still wet to his discomfort. “I’m not okay,” he replies.

 

“What?”

 

“I have wet socks, hyung.”

 

 

 

When the rain finally stops and Ddol Yi’s clothes are already soaked through, it’s five in the evening. It’s then that he remembers he never patched the leak on the roof, sprinting down the street in a frenzy. He makes it back to his rooftop apartment carrying rivers, going up two steps at a time. The rain pools at his ankles and Ddol Yi fumbles to push the door open, running towards the closet to salvage the ocean forming his in room. It takes two buckets, three old shirts and a pair of sweatpants he didn’t knew he owned to finally clean up the mess. His shoulders ache in fatigue and Ddol Yi resides back onto his mattress, massaging his arms.

 

He hadn’t told Mijoon about he got his current job, but he knows the look he’ll get when he finally confesses that he only attained this job because he decided to dine and dash. Some things are better left unsaid, and Ddol Yi thinks this is one of those said things. Being best friends never means not keeping secrets. It just means you guys share more secrets than others.

 

 

 

_“This can be our secret,” Mijoon whispered as he pushed the wallet into Ddol Yi’s hand. “Hyung,” he refutes, only to be shushed forcefully by Mijoon when footsteps could be heard outside the classroom. Thankfully, the footsteps continue in the distance and Mijoon pulls him outside the classroom all the way to the emergency stairs. His grip is hurting Ddol Yi’s arm but he doesn’t let go, tugging the younger boy all the way up the stairs. When they make it to the rooftop, Mijoon lets go and throws him a wide grin. Ddol Yi frowns, rubbing his wrist._

_“You know you just committed a crime, right?”_

_“It’s not like this will affect him. He’s rich enough to not care.”_

_“It still isn’t right, you know?”He said, eyebrows furrowing._

_“Well, the stuff he says to you isn’t right either. So just take the money and pay your rent.”Mijoon waves off his reply and proceeds to drag him down to the ground. “It’s okay,” he reassures. Ddol Yi only frowns, eyes downcast on the rooftop floor. “I don’t know, hyung.”_

_He ends up paying his rent, all three months of it with the help of their deed. The wallet sits in the back of his drawer, reminding him of their secret and their sins. He wants to burn it, but doesn’t, letting it stale away in his room. “Leather doesn’t burn well.” Mijoon tells him while flipping through a magazine one day. “I can get rid of it if it bothers you so much.”_

_“It doesn’t bother me anymore.” Ddol Yi replies with a smile._

A lot of things stopped bothering Ddol Yi at one point, and he doesn’t mind pocketing little snacks to keep his stomach from digesting itself. He doesn’t mind that the window doesn’t close completely and the wind sears at his ankles, the rooftop leaks and rain drowns all his paintings. He also doesn’t mind that his father stopped coming by to drop off expenses for the month; especially doesn’t mind that the only person in the world that calls him “Young Seok” is gone from his life. His name is “Ddol Yi,” as his late mother always called him.

 

But one thing he does mind though, is how Mijoon’s eyes betray his smiles. Nothing is okay and Ddol Yi wonders if ends justify the means. Will becoming an idol ever pay off all the dreams that late night dance practice and three hour vocal lessons has shattered. Mijoon spends all his time looking into mirrored walls, observing every single flaw and perfection that he’s born with. He doesn’t do much these days beside memorize and recite dance moves. He doesn’t write poems anymore, and Ddol Yi stashes away four years of letters and love poems alongside the leather wallet. Seo Mijoon is going to become an idol, full of restrictions and taboos. Love doesn’t seem probable at all when even friendship became skeptical. Ddol Yi doesn’t bother washing up that night, falling asleep with aching shoulders and strained muscles.


	2. Part 2

He wakes up the next day feeling nothing but reenergized and Ddol Yi prepares groggily before starting towards the restaurant. Another day marked off his calendar, another day closer to tuition and rent deadlines. Ddol Yi wonders what Mijoon would say if he were to drop out of school. Perhaps, it would be another Don’t End Up Like Me speech paired with frowns and worrying gazes. He scoffs, kicking a rock on the street. He devours his thoughts and continues down the road. He wonders when Mijoon will realize that Ddol Yi’s living Mijoon’s dream and not his own.

 

It’s petty love, really, how they were envious over each other’s burdens and flaws. Mijoon wants his independence, not wanting to be a burden to his family. And Ddol Yi knows it’s one of the reasons why Mijoon chose to be a trainee—spending all his time in the rundown dormitory so he doesn’t have to increase the expenses at home. But Ddol Yi also yearns for the anchors of Mijoon’s life, having someone else to live for isn’t that bad. The only shackles on Ddol Yi’s life disintegrated when he was 13, sitting by himself in front of hospital grounds. It’s then he realizes that the only one that will never leave him is himself. The world’s an ever changing spectacle, and you are the only fixed point.

 

No one’s here to stay and Ddol Yi knows from the start that Mijoon is another passer-by in his life, grazing shoulders and leaving his imprints on the fresh snow. He tries to prolong his stay though, appeasing him so that he won’t leave in time. He’s all smiles and crinkling eyes; Ddol Yi doesn’t ever let Mijoon see the blades in his soul. He lets Mijoon protect him in all the ways that he doesn’t need to be protected in. Ddol Yi is a warrior who’s grown up in turmoil, not a defenceless noble who only knows how to cry. Mijoon doesn’t have to know that when Ddol Yi lowers his eyes, he’s not crying but hiding the darkness of his irises.

 

It’s the glower of his eyes, a burning kohl that sees through too many lies. And when he meets Mijoon’s sister for a brief dinner, he sees black spewing from her words. He doesn’t believe anything she says that night, or what Mijoon relays to him when he brings him midnight dinners after. And when Mijoon tells him he saw Jaehee at Han Taesang’s house, Ddol Yi only nods in mock astonishment, eyes wide with false worry. He doesn’t believe that Seo Mido will ever be torn over infatuation; she’s a warrior as well.

 

“I can’t help but think she’s only with Taesang Hyung-nim to help pay off our debt.” Mijoon says with a sigh for the sixth time.

 

“But didn’t you say he loves her?” Ddol Yi inquires.

 

“He does, but I think she likes Jaehee Hyung more.”

 

“Who exactly are you rooting for?” He asks, setting the washed dishes on the counter. The plates clink against one another and Ddol Yi wipes the water on his hands onto the front of his apron. Mijoon sighs again, sprawling himself on the table while Ddol Yi grabs a towel to dry the dishes. “I don’t know, I just want her to be happy and chase after her dreams.” Ddol Yi chuckles, “You want everyone to chase their dreams.”

 

“Because I’m chasing my dreams!” He retorts.

 

“Funny, because I don’t think you know what your dream is.” Ddol Yi mutters as he wipes up the stove, voice low so that Jaebum can only guess between words. Mijoon doesn’t continue the conversation (Ddol Yi doesn’t tell him that it’s rather pointless) and they both sink into a comfortable silence broken occasionally by the clatter or cutlery and porcelain bowls. It’s half past ten by the time Ddol Yi finishes cleaning and separating the ingredients for tomorrow and Mijoon helps him put on his coat and scarf, winter air too cold for bare skin. The soft cotton of his scarf grazes against his cheek and Ddol Yi smiles. “Let’s go,” he says, pulling the metal gate close. Mijoon interlaces their fingers and leads him down the road. Staring at the back of Mijoon’s head, Ddol Yi doesn’t think he ever wants Mijoon to be just a bypasser in his life.

 

He thinks he needs to tie the red string onto their fingers manually, following along in tow so that the string never breaks.

 

 

 

When Mijoon arrives at the store, out of breath from having ran the whole way from home, Ddol Yi is separating the side dishes into the containers. He gives Mijoon a perplexed look as he rushes towards the door, stopping his task. The other male seemed out of focus, out of breath—pupils hazy. “My sister’s in the hospital,” he says with urgency before tugging Ddol Yi out of the restaurant. Ddol Yi looks back at Mrs. Yoon who only gives him a nod. He’s being dragged away and Ddol Yi feels his red string straining. He runs faster to catch up, easing the tension.

 

 

 

The warriors don’t crumble.

Ddol Yi thinks Seo Mido is the terracotta army.

 

No one else catches the glint in her eyes, the wavering of words that denote her façade of “I don’t remember anything.” She remembers everything, Ddol Yi is quite sure of that, as he settles a cup of hot water on the table. Mijoon settles into the chair, slumped over from the ups and downs he’s experienced that day. “Are you okay?” Ddol Yi asks softly, hands falling onto the older male’s shoulders.

 

“Yeah,” Mijoon whispers hoarsely, “I’m just worried.”

 

“Don’t be.” Ddol Yi settles his fingers on Jaebum’s neck, massaging out the kinks of his muscles “Everything will be fine.”

 

“I hope so.” Mijoon says, resting his head in between his arms.

 

 

 

Everything does turns out fine, one way or another considering that nothing was awfully wrong from the first place. And when Ddol Yi visits the café that Mijoon and Eun-ae works at one night, he catches the net of worries around Mijoon’s head. He also catches the looks that Eun-ae throws at Mijoon when she thinks the world stops revolving, but that’s another story for another day. He steps up to the counter, eyes crinkling as he speaks, “One vanilla latte, please.” It throws Mijoon off guard and Ddol Yi laughs when the older male nearly drops the mug he was drying. He manages to catch it mid-fall though with reflexes that he’s acquired through endless hours of dance practice. “Coming right up!” He replies, breaking into a smile at the younger boy and Ddol Yi only laughs brighter.

 

Eun-ae doesn’t laugh along though. She doesn’t need to, Ddol Yi deduces as he hands Mijoon the money for the latte. His fingers linger for a moment too long and Mijoon smiles back, grazing the inside of his wrist. “Wait for me,” he mouths. And Ddol Yi does, slowly savouring his drink until the clock strikes the end of Mijoon’s shift. He waits for another three minutes before Mijoon slumps next to him, taking off his apron to put it on the table.

 

“You make good coffee.” Ddol Yi says, settling the mug onto the wooden table. “Of course,” he beams,taking the mug into his hands for a sip.

 

“So,” Ddol Yi starts off, “Is everything alright?” His question strikes a soft spot and Ddol Yi catches the way Mijoon tenses, hands gripping the cup too tight and smile fading. He doesn’t ask further, waiting for Mijoon to string together his feelings and put one and one together. And when he does speak, the first thing he says is; “I don’t know.” Ddol Yi waits, swirling the half empty cup of coffee. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t tell Mijoon that he catches Seo Mido staring absentmindedly at old photographs. “She remembers everything,” he wants to say—but he doesn’t. The cup of coffee remains half empty.


	3. Part 3

Of all the things that Ddol Yi predicts, he doesn’t exactly think that Seo Mido is actually handicapped. So when she falls from the hills, brazen skin and bleeding wounds, he’s lying if he says he wasn’t surprised. “Who would push a girl in a wheelchair off a hill?!” Mijoon exclaims through the telephone, voice agitated and rushed. “She could have died! I can’t believe I didn’t look after her.” He continues, voice slowly losing its initial momentum and falling to a jagged pace. Ddol Yi holds the phone at a distance, gazing up at the empty ceiling as he listens. The clock ticks along to the gears in his head, cranking piece by piece. “What if the person that pushed her off,” Ddol Yi says while shifting up from the bed, maneuvering his way to his desk and chair. He flicks on the table lamp, a dim light illuminating the table top as he finishes the sentence, “…was the same person who crashed into her in the first place.”

 

“What?”

“I mean, it’s possible that whoever ran into her that night wanted to finish his deed.”

 

“But there’s no reason for someone to come after my sister’s life.” Mijoon states.

 

“There’s no reason to go after Seo Mido, but there’s always reasons to go after Han Taesang’s girlfriend.” Ddol Yi says, remembering the snippets of conversation he’s gathered about the older male. “You think—” Mijoon starts arubtly.

 

“Don’t meddle.” Ddol Yi interjects, frowning when his ears pick up conversation in the background. “Is Eun-ae with you?”

 

“She’s my sister’s best friend.”

 

“I’m your best friend.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Goodnight.”

 

Ddol Yi hangs up, settling the phone onto the wooden table. _Our fate is straining, Seo Mijoon._ He thinks, picking up his sketchbook and opening to a fresh page. He draws flowers that night in the form of wilting buds. He isn’t sure if this was the beginning or the ending, and he dreams that night of ending before his beginning.

 

 

 

He understands a few days later that endings always signify a new beginning, and Mijoon walks into the restaurant one night with heavy shoulders and fatigued muscles. Ddol Yi is wiping down the tables when he walks in and he finds that the dark circles beneath the older male’s eyes were waxing like the night moon. Mijoon takes a seat, the one closest to the kitchen area, while Ddol Yi sits opposite him. Running a hand through his hair, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “My sister’s lying to me.”

 

“About?”

 

“Everything.” He replies, “She remembers everything, she can walk, and she likes Jaehee-hyung. I don’t understand why she’s keeping everything from me. She’s calculating her every move, and it’s gotten to the point where I don’t even know if she’s the same sister I knew all along. It’s stressing me out to the point where I can’t concentrate on anything else” Mijoon lets out all at once. “If this continues, I might be cut off the team.”

 

 _“Good,”_ Ddol Yi almost replies before he catches himself and forces the word down his esophagus. “You won’t be cut off.” He says instead, “You have more passion than anyone on the team.”

 

“But passion is never enough, and neither is hard work.”

 

“Of course passion counts, their entire company profits from the amount of desire you have to succeed—and you’re the only one with everything to lose.” Ddol Yi blurts out, he doesn’t catch himself this time.

 

“What are you trying to say?”

 

“We both know what I’m saying.” Ddol Yi pushes back from the table, standing up to continue cleaning the restaurant. Mijoon stares at the back of Ddol Yi’s head, voice terse as he speaks again, “You know who I’m doing this for.” Ddol Yi wrings the rag in the sink, washing out bits and pieces of bean sprouts and scraps. “I know, everyone but yourself.” He washes the rag again before starting on the other tables.

 

“Not everyone can do things for themselves,” Mijoon says, voice a bit louder—a bit angrier—this time. It ticks a nerve in Ddol Yi and he’s reminded why they never talked about this issue at hand, always waltzing their way around the topic. He throws the rag on the table, voice coming out too harsh as he lets his emotions run in anarchy; “Of course, and you’re the absolute saint—sacrificing dreams and freedom for your family. But then there’s pathetic people like me that don’t have a family to live for and still can’t manage to live for themselves.”

 

There are scabs you don’t pick at and Ddol Yi finds them ripping old wounds from the inside out. His words find momentum, coming out without any processing; “You don’t have to remind me of everything I don’t have. You’re just as pathetic as I am, Seo Mijoon.” He doesn’t close the store that day, walking out into the midnight streets with trembling hands and a new found level of self-abhorrence. It’s Mijoon who sits sleeplessly that night, realizing that Seo Mido wasn’t the only one that he didn’t know at all.

 

Everyone’s a warrior living under a façade, and Mijoon wonders if it’s because he’s too simple for the complexity of the world. He’s foolishly trying to protect people who are protecting him.

 

 

 

_“So what are you going to do after graduation?” Mijoon asked, sitting down on the open grass field. “I’m not sure, probably find a stable job and pass the days.” Ddol Yi answered, fingers gripping at the blades of grass until his knuckles turned white. “What about you,” he asked. Mijoon shrugged, “I think I want to do writing, like my old man does. Probably write novels and such until I’m too old to move my hands due to arthritis.”_

_“Must be nice having a dream.”_

_“You have them too, you just haven’t found it yet!” Mijoon smiles, eyes glinting under the setting sun. The world’s sepia and much too warm for comfort, Ddol Yi shrugs, “I think I’m better off without dreams. I just want a patched roof.”_

The howling winds attack him that night and Ddol Yi simply laughs.

He’s without dreams and he doesn’t even have a patched roof.


	4. Part 4

Their red string of fate is broken.

 

It must be, Ddol Yi concludes as he slips on his jacket. He shivers slightly against the autumn winds and closes the door behind him, making his way down the corroding stairs. One day, he thinks, he’ll step on a molding step and fall his way down. One day—not today.

 

The sun is barely up, street lamps still on as Helios peeks through cloud woven curtains. But the stark bareness of the streets keep him awake, clears his mind and thoughts before sweeping it away in the daybreak winds. He walks on the grey sidewalk, trying to remember just how much of his work was left undone when he let down his mask. He hopes it’d be done within the extra hour he prepared, before Mrs. Yoon hobbles down from her apartment to open up the storefront. He tries hard not to think about that fact that Mijoon now knows that he’s always been a glass half empty—never half full. _We’re all passerby’s._ He thinks.

 

_This too shall pass._

 

Because, the first lesson he’s properly learned from reality is that life passes, and he spends a heavy portion of his days just trying to pass by. Spring comes and goes, and he knows that at his worst all he needs is a meal every two days for him survive. The unpatched roof won’t poison him and he can always sneak into the school gyms for a few nights of slumber. This isn’t—isn’t anywhere near—his worst, where he manages to have a boss that provides him with three meals a day, a salary to pay his rent and once he hands in his documents—he won’t even have the burden of tuition on his shoulders. He has more now than he ever has, but it doesn’t ease the pit of emptiness forming in his chest. The tug on his pinky finger is no longer there.

 

 

 

He half expects to find the store still open, lights still on and gate unclosed—because who else would there be to close the restaurant? What he doesn’t expect though is walking through the doors to find Mijoon still inside, fast asleep on the chair, resting his head on the tabletop. It startles him and Ddol Yi finds himself much too cautious of his actions; where his breath and footsteps all feel too loud. He doesn’t want to wake him up, prematurely creating the confrontation that he doesn’t want to have. And so he moves around Mijoon, like Mijoon is the sun and he is Pluto—moving to set out ingredients, clean countertops and dry dishes.

 

Mijoon awakes anyways, due to the sound of morning birds and passing cars, with a small yawn and slight cracking of joints. Ddol Yi tries not to notice, separating the bean sprouts for today’s menu. “Young Seok-ah,” he says—syllables foreign and strange on his tongue. It’s the name that he loathes, the name that his fath— _the man_ had given to him and not his mother.

 

“Don’t you have a curfew?” Ddol Yi asks before Mijoon has the chance to start his sentence. “You’re an idol to be. Shouldn’t you be abiding to rules and going back to your dorm?” He says, taking out the pots to start making the soup for the day. He’s chopping the onions for the stew, enzymes breaking free to mix with acids and phosphate groups—it burns his eyes and Ddol Yi doesn’t know if he was crying before or after he started chopping the onions. He lets out a sniff, wiping away the tears with his sleeve as he lifts the cutting board, dumping the vegetables into the boiling water.

 

He tries not to look back; he knows Mijoon is still there. His presence takes up the room, and Ddol Yi can hear his soft breathing over the hissing of steam, can smell the lingering of his cologne in the morning air. The world is carrying around pieces of Seo Mijoon and Ddol Yi feels overwhelmed, because since when had he been living so much in the other’s embrace? He feels sick in the stomach, bile threatening to backtrack into his digestive tract.

 

He doesn’t exactly understand how he’s still not used to being lonely when he’s been alone for all this time. He knows that Mijoon can live without him, revert back to days before they’ve met; but, he isn’t confident—void of it actually—that he could live without Seo Mijoon. When has he been so weak-hearted? You’re a puppeteer, he tells himself—never the puppet. He frowns, picking up the tablecloth to wipe at the counter. It doesn’t actually need to be cleaned—it never _needs_ to be cleaned, it’s always Ddol Yi being too conscious of invisible dust and stains. No one ever sees through the tainted lenses he wears.

 

Mijoon tries to take them off however; reaching out to grab the foggy glasses off. He reaches out to hold Ddol Yi’s hand still. “It’s clean, Ddol Yi. It’s clean.”

 

“It’s not.”

 

“You’ve been wiping at the same spot for three minutes.”

 

“It’s not clean, hyung.”

 

“Ddo—“

 

“Go back to the dorms, hyung. I have to set up the store.”

 

 

 

When Mijoon steps out the front door, Ddol Yi still sees the stains on the counter. “They’re not going away.” He mutters to himself, voice cracking. It’s okay, he tells himself, they’re here to stay. And if stains were the only objects of permanence in his life, then so be it.

 

He’s a soldier and he treats Mijoon as if he were the Helen of Troy—as if he were Xi Shi. He’s waging wars over the other even though he knows that it will be his downfall. He’s not Gou Qian, where he can spend ten years living under someone’s foot for the chance to bite back.

 

Patience is the best revenge for a gentleman. But Ddol Yi is never the gentleman—and he knows that fighting wars over Mijoon is pointless if Mijoon doesn’t want to stay by his side. Ddol Yi is a mere soldier, he’s not the king. The onions still sting his eyes, despite its proteins denaturing in the boiling water. The sun rises further in the morning sky and he continues to wipe that the counter surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit shorter this time but i hope it's okay? ; n;


	5. Part 5

He doesn’t expect Mijoon to come back for him—seeing as everyone that left never _ever_ came back. Not when his mother went towards heaven’s doors, and not when his father left for his new family. Ddol Yi’s more than used to the state of being abandoned and he’s conditioned himself to stop wallowing in his fate and pick up his feet—we’ve always got to keep walking. He’s already got a late start, he can’t afford to lose any more time.

 

No one turns back to look at the broken dirt road and Ddol Yi figures that Seo Mijoon wouldn’t be any different. (He wishes he is though.)

 

Pulling his jumper closer to his body, Ddol Yi shivers—the beginnings of winter wind infiltrating Seoul from all directions. He takes in a breath and pushes open the glass door—bell tinkling as the door swept past the ornament. It’s a stark difference to the howling winds outside, insulated indoors to keep the staff in comfort, and Ddol Yi rubs at his frostbitten ears as he waits at the front desk. The secretary’s talking on the phone, valleys forming on her forehead as he hears her repeat “I’m sorry” for the fifth time. The customers are always right, he sighs—even when they are anything but right. He gives her an empathetic smile and returns his gaze to the wooden table.

 

She gets off the phone after three minutes, shoulders tense and the creases in between her brows deepens. “How may I help you?” She asks softly, voice a bit hoarse.

 

“I’m here for the interview at two thirty.” Ddol Yi says.

 

 

 

The actual interview is a blur—he doesn’t really remember what he was asked and what he replied—but he thinks that it went well. (Well—if the manager’s smile was anything to go by; but then again, he doesn’t know how much trust he can put into smiles.) There’s little to no qualifications for the position, everything is dependent on raw talent and he clutches at the folder in his arm a bit too tightly. He doesn’t really want to hand it in, but he wants the job and he wants to fix his broken rooftop. And so he hands over the creased manila folder, handing over all the vulnerabilities hidden in between black and white lines.

 

“We’ll contact you for further notice.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

 

 

Ddol Yi tries not to wait for a phonecall, distracting himself with daily routines and he falls into the habit of cleaning and re-cleaning and maneuvering the cutlery from one side to another for a week. Mrs. Yoon gives him wary glances throughout the week, but Ddol Yi simply dismisses her worries. He’s not entirely anxious—he’s simply waiting for the traffic light to change.

 

He doesn’t actually see himself with a high paying job and moving out of his dingy apartment—not with his credentials and circumstances. But Ddol Yi doesn’t exactly see himself working in the restaurant till old age either. He can’t keep cleaning stained counters until he can no longer see clearly. He tells Mrs. Yoon later that night, as they close down the shop.

 

“I applied for a position at a publication press.” He says while wiping down the dishes. “I hope I get the job.” The elderly woman smiles, holds his palms together with hers as she reassures him, “You’ll do great.”

 

 

 

He actually does get the job, and he almost drops his phone on the floor. He tightens his grip and lies back down onto the bed. “You won’t be writing anything original soon, but you’ll still learn from helping to edit the other’s articles.” The manager says, and Ddol Yi nods—forgetting that it couldn’t be seen by the other male. “You’ll most likely be running errands for a while, but time will come when you get to write your own editorial. Your work was good.” Ddol Yi whispers a “Yes, I understand.” and bids his farewell.

 

He doesn’t know how he feels knowing that all he’s ever written was stringing the bits and pieces that Mijoon says to him. It’s pathetic, he thinks, you’re living out his dream for him.

 

 

 

_“Ddol Yi! Did you read chapter sixteen yet?”_

_“The chapter where he leaves the town?”_

_“Do you think he’ll ever come back?”_

_“Maybe.”_

_“I think he’ll come back, they mentioned falling leaves and roots at least three times in the chapter.”_

_“So falling leaves always return to their roots?”_

_“Of course!”_

Mijoon gets reprimanded twice as much as he usually gets during dance practice and he casts the glances that the other trainees were giving him aside. It’s a mixture of pity and aggravation, and he shakes his head—focusing on the mirrored wall in front of them. They’ve never bothered him before and he won’t let them get to him now. All he has to do is focus on his goal, and nothing but his goal.

 

Turning on a pivot step, Mijoon wonders vaguely since when has he stopped referring to it as “his dream” and opting for “his goal.” Since when has his subconscious stopped lying to himself? He slides to the right, locking his arm in place as flashes of Ddol Yi appear in his mind.

 

_“Funny, because I don’t think you know what your dreams are.”_

 

He doesn’t hear the music clearly, all that is resonating through the caverns of his cranium being the younger male’s voice. He doesn’t know how to place his feelings knowing that Ddol Yi is not a soft white but a muddled grey. He makes a wrong turn, colliding with another body and he feels the sprain in his ankle as he lands on his side. Black, white, grey—Mijoon sees black and blue on his flesh.

 

He doesn’t stay for extra practice that night and Ddol Yi comes home to Mijoon in front of his door. The older male gives him a meek smile, and Ddol Yi curses. “You’re an idiot,” he mutters while taking off his scarf and putting it on the other. He tugs the other through the door (his fingers are freezing) and sets towards the kitchen area. He puts water in the kettle and places it over the gas stove.

 

When he comes back to the bedroom, Mijoon is still smiling (he hadn’t realized how much he had wanted to see the younger male) and Ddol Yi frowns. “Did the cold eat away at your nerves?”

 

“I guess so.” Mijoon shrugs, moving towards the bed to rest. Ddol Yi doesn’t fail to catch the limp in his steps. He moves forward, pulling the blankets around the older male. “What happened, hyung?” He questioned.

 

“I thought of you.”

 

“I’m asking about your leg.”

 

“I fell. I thought of you and I fell.” Mijoon replied, tugging the blankets so he settled comfortably underneath them. His hands were still numb from the cold, and he only feels slight tingling when Ddol Yi warms them with his own—brows furrowed and lips upturned. It makes him wonder why he’s never seen Ddol Yi frown like this before—why the other boy was constantly smiling before him. Mijoon pulls his hands back, poking a finger on the edge of Ddol Yi’s lips. “You’re frowning,” he comments.

 

“I’m always frowning.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“Not in front of you.” Ddol Yi mutters, taking Mijoon’s hands again and placing them under the blanket and away from the frigid air. The kettle boils in the background and Mijoon leans forward to rest his head on Ddol Yi’s shoulder. “Why?” He mumbles, breath dissipating into vapors.

 

“Because you like me smiling and motivational.” Ddol Yi replies, eyes focused on the empty wall. Mijoon sighs, turning his head so that he could bury himself unto the younger male. “I like _you,_ Ddol Yi.” He continued, “I like it when you smile because you’re _happy_. I don’t want you to smile when you don’t mean it, and I don’t want you to not tell me things.”

 

“There are things I don’t want to tell you.” Ddol Yi whispers.

 

“Then tell me you don’t want to tell me.”

 

Ddol Yi sighs, resting his chin on the other’s head, soft locks of hair grazing his skin. “I don’t know.” He says, pushing the other off to return to the stove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the good lord, emperor of the celestial heavens, save my writer's block.


	6. Part 6

“I don’t want you to end up like my sister,” Mijoon says, cupping his hands around the porcelain mug. The tea was a bit too strong for his liking, but he figured that the bitter aftertaste was better than suffering from gangrene. “I won’t,” Ddol Yi replies. He reckons that he won’t ever be as extreme as the older female—nor as weak. He won’t give out his heart for money—he’s selling his soul out for Seo Mijoon. Besides, there’s not enough ill-fated romances in this world for some rich company heir to become infatuated with himself. The Seo family has all the luck in the word though and Ddol Yi stops himself from thinking of the way that Jaehee (and Eun-ae) looks at Mijoon.

 

“You don’t need to protect me,” Mijoon reaffirms.

 

“I don’t need you to protect me either.”

 

“I want to care for you.”

 

“Care for yourself, first.” Ddol Yi is testing the waters, and he wonders if one of them will take up and leave like every other time they prance around the subject. Mijoon sets the mug down on the table. “I am.” He says rather adamantly.

 

“You aren’t.” Ddol Yi corrects, “You’re not living for yourself.”

 

“I don’t have to.” Mijoon continues staring at the bottom of his now-empty mug, shoulders tense and voice harsh. “Then do it for _me_? I don’t want you to associate yourself with all of the whole  self-sacrificing bullshit. It’s not worth it!” Ddol Yi replies promptly, hand gestures increasingly expressive as with the volume of his voice.

 

“Don’t I get to decide if it’s worth it or not!?” Mijoon shouts back, knuckles white against the handle of the mug. “I’m not selling drugs or joining a gang, Ddol Yi. I’m just choosing another career path. And it’s not like I completely abhor it—that’s why I chose it in the first place.”

 

“You’re going to be an _idol_! Where you pour your heart, soul, and health, breaking bones behind cameras and no one actually gives a shit except for the mere three minutes onstage!” Ddol Yi is yelling at this point, hands trembling with rage. “Nothing you do is _ever_ enough, and you already know it. They’re placing you in shackles and chains—you’re losing your freedom for what? _Money_? You guys are in debt—but you’re not homeless and you’re not on the complete bottom of the social strata. It’s not worth it.” Ddol Yi scoffs, laughs until his voice is hoarse and breaking. “You don’t deserve to live like that.” He mutters.

 

Seo Mijoon is his greater good and Ddol Yi abhors the fact that he’s forcing himself into a mould to help others. He’s binding his bones and flesh into mutated ways and Ddol Yi feels as if it was his heart that was being constricted. He doesn’t register the fact that he’s crying until Mijoon steps around the table to pull him closer, fingers wiping at the tears on his cheeks. “I just want you to be happy.” Ddol Yi cries into Mijoon’s chest, legs losing strength as he falls to the floor.

 

“I _am_ happy. I have you.”

 

 

 

_It’s Mijoon who confesses first, in the middle of the freezing winter night. They’re both huddled underneath the thick blanket that Mijoon’s mother had set out for them. It was the coldest winter Seoul has had in the last ten years and the older male refused to let Ddol Yi alone in his apartment with the icy drafts._

_“I like you, Ddol Yi.” was what he said as the clock struck midnight. Ddol Yi feels like he’s Aschenputtel, magic fading off as the gold turns back to oxidized iron. He’s in rags again, but Mijoon doesn’t care—still loves him despite the soot and tatters._

_He smiles back, choosing not to voice his reply in fear of the instability that might be heard from his words. He doesn’t tell Mijoon how he feels so utterly grateful—but also utterly undeserving of a Prince Charming._

_He wonders if he’s stepped into the wrong fairytale, and whether he was actually The Little Merman—fated to disappear into seafoam because his love wasn’t reciprocated. Despite all the pain of ripping scales off for actual legs, and vocal chords torn out—the prince doesn’t love him back. He wonders if the Seo Mijoon in front of his eyes is another mirage._

“Then why aren’t _I_ happy?” He whispers.

 

 

 

Mijoon doesn’t answer him; but, both Ddol Yi and Mijoon know that it’s because life is only temporary. Mijoon knows he won’t have Ddol Yi forever. (Ddol Yi knows that Mijoon can’t stay either.)

 

 

 

 

Ddol Yi also knows that he is the stain in Mijoon’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't throw eggs at me?????????????????


	7. Part 7

Mijoon likes to believe that he is at the age to act with reckless tendencies—since they’re still so young, and wild, and free. Where being 19 actually means wandering into newfound freedom and endless adventures—but he knows that it’s not, and 19 is the age where he is thrown headfirst into the world of responsibilities, and every decision he makes will affect his future. He doesn’t know how they expect him to keep steady on his bicycle when they’ve been holding the handles for him his entire life. There’s no time for recklessness; especially not when he’s entering a career where any grain of dust will be magnified for the world to see.

 

It’s why they lecture him not to bring up personal opinions, and throw him phrases to memorize and recite. You’re always grateful for your chances, and your ideal type is always a girl who is filial and loves to smile. He can’t bear the consequences of making mistakes, falling off his bike and crashing into oncoming cars. But Ddol Yi isn’t a mistake, and loving him isn’t a reckless tendency. He doesn’t deem it so, and he can’t bear for others to see it as so.

 

But that doesn’t mean that Mijoon can stop them from doing so. And it breaks off pieces of his demeanor when they have to talk with hushed voices behind closed doors, and he’s too conscious of what is the right distance away from the younger male. He steps too close and Mijoon feels as though he’ll suffocate, but Ddol Yi is always too far away—and he has to remind himself that he can’t step forward to close the distance in between them. He can’t simply reach out to interlace hands in broad daylight.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the Ddol Yi’s bangs while pulling the other closer, wiping at the tears with his sleeve. And when the tea in the mug runs cold, sun lost halfway around the world, he wonders when he’s started telling Ddol Yi “I’m sorry” instead of “I love you.”

 

 

_"I love you." He isn't the one to say it this time, and Mijoon reaches out with his shaky hands to hold the nape of Ddol Yi's neck. He brings them closer, resting his forehead upon the others'._

 

 

 

_"I'm sorry."_

 

 

 

When Mijoon leaves, limping down broken stairs, Ddol Yi stays at his door--looking at the back of Mijoon's figure until he disappears around the corner. His eyes still sting, but he keeps looking at where Mijoon was just moments ago. There's a part of him that knows that this would probably be the last he sees of Seo Mijoon and all he has will be the image of him leaving to reminisce.

 

Not that Mijoon wouldn’t be back up these stairs, banging on the door for Ddol Yi to come out. But rather, because Ddol Yi wouldn’t be here in the first place, and when Mijoon finally pries open the door (the lock is rather flimsy after all), all he’d find would be barren walls and empty space.

 

It’s an inevitable end, Ddol Yi thinks as his heart decays by half-lives. He’s been delaying it for so long—gritting his teeth and grinding his heart—but it’s still bound to happen. One of them has to move on after all.

 

When the stains no longer wash away, Ddol Yi knows it’s about time to replace the counter. He’s reached a forked road, but he’s too lost to move forward, too tired to go back. Running his hand through his hair, he moved back within the apartment. He really can’t afford to wait there a lifetime, and as much as he doesn’t want to wander on, he knows that he has to. You can’t revolve around Seo Mijoon, he reprimands himself. You can’t be more pathetic than you already are.

 

 

As oblivious as Mijoon is to the vast expanse of Ddol Yi’s mind—he’s still sure that something is very _off_ in the way the younger male’s eyes bore into his back. It keeps him awake and hyper conscious—senses running at full speed because he can’t wrap his mind around Ddol Yi’s thoughts.

 

He wonders how much of Ddol Yi he actually _knows_ , and exactly when was it that he rendered the other boy to be a fixated point in his life. He seems to have forgotten the fluidity (the mere possibility that Ddol Yi wasn’t an open book for him to read) of the younger male, and how smiles are no longer an indication of happiness. It frightens and intrigues Mijoon at the same time, leaving him to think about just how gullible (how utterly naive) he is to live thinking that everyone is a transparent glass bottle like himself.

 

But a part of it is also how important he thinks he is to Ddol Yi, as the other male was important to him. He had grown used to thinking that their lives revolved in orbit of one another, that Ddol Yi would place him in the centre of his life. He wonders if it was wrong all along—whether this way of _loving_ was disastrous (it probably was) and foolish. _Loving_ wasn’t exactly _living_ and he’s suddenly shuttled back to vague recollection of a poem he had read in his younger years—a book his father had kept on the bookstore countertop for the longest time. He had picked it up one day, idly flipping through pages until a quote caught his eye.

 

 _“A love that consumes you; perhaps, isn’t love at all.”_ It had said, and Mijoon thinks he understands bits and pieces of those ten words now. He had always thought of himself before the world; he wonders why he would reockon that Ddol Yi thought of _him_ before as well. But even if the other male did, he knows that it shouldn’t be.

 

And shifting around on the battered mattress, he loses another night of sleep to cyclic thoughts (Why can’t he think things through? He wonders.) and empty ceilings. Mijoon’s collecting questions in his chest, and none of them have answers. And he’s in the midst of finally falling into slumber when he reaches the understanding that—perhaps—when it comes to Ddol Yi, he isn’t the answer either.

 

 

 

His ankle doesn’t seem to heal in the right ways, and he’s left feeling short bouts of pain when he turns on a pivot during practice. The music stops with an echo and the sole of his sneakers screech against the wooden floor.

 

“Are you in your right mind?!” The dance instructor exclaims, hands frantically waving in the air. Mijoon wonders the same thing, looking around at the practice room. He also wonders if he’s too young for an existential crisis—but he figures that 20 is the age of exploration and getting lost with every step he takes. “I’m not,” he mutters before walking out the room. His silhouette is following in mirrored walls and he closes the door with a slam.

 

He tries to register that he’s walking out of his dreams. (They aren’t actually his dreams, Ddol Yi had told him one too many times.) He tries, but Mijoon figures that he must not be in the right mind afterall.

 

“You’re crazy,” is what Ddol Yi tells him when he comes home to find Mijoon back on his doorstep. It’s too much déjà vu for him to handle and he pushes open the door, pulling the older male in. His hand is too cold, and Ddol Yi steps over to the bedroom, pushing Mijoon within the mound of blankets. He’s about to step back out to the kitchen for warm water when Mijoon stops him, freezing fingers gripped around his wrist. “Am I not your answer?” He asks.

 

“What answer?” Ddol Yi asks.

 

“Am I your answer?” Mijoon repeats, grip on the younger male’s wrist tightening. Ddol Yi pushes the other off, tugging his hand away as he walks away; “You’re my question. You’re always the question.” He mutters.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this plot is. yep yep.


End file.
